


A fucking fanfiction originally inspired by that one Aesop fable

by orphan_account



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, ao3 is not my therapist, i didnt really think this through did i, i guess its set in a vaguely zootopia style anthropomorphic universe, oh well, this was not originally meant to be an autobiography, why am I doing this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-02-07 09:15:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21455626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It's a story about the tortoise and the hare, from the tortoise and the hare. Yay?
Relationships: Tortoise & Hare
Comments: 2





	A fucking fanfiction originally inspired by that one Aesop fable

**Author's Note:**

> cut to a montage of me, having no words and no explanation for this shit

The midday sun curled down, settling over the newly mown field in a weighted blanket of dry heat. Tortoise looked over at Hare, who was cheerfully making mud soup by stabbing the ground with a stick and pouring water all over it. The races wouldn’t start for ages yet. He started to realise that he should have brought a book.

“You come here every year?”

“Well, yeah. My parents love the racing.”

He craned his neck to catch a glimpse of the runners. There was Cheetah, with her golden fur and her supple back and her long legs. The favourite to win, he knew Hare had a poster of her. And there was Antelope. Tortoise hadn’t thought you could stretch haughtily, but he managed it. Was it arrogance if you really were the best? Regardless, he decided, it was still annoying. He tried to see how many competitors there were – a few dogs, some horses, an ostrich. He knew Hare had everything about them memorised. But she said Cheetah always donated to charity and talked to fans and loved the sport, so he decided he was rooting for her.

The pistol fired. Instantly, all the spectators were on their feet, screaming and clamouring forward. He thought he finally understood what Hare had been going on about all those years. Watching them, works of art in motion, flying without wings, he found himself swept away with the excitement. Hare was vibrating beside him, her ears daubed with black spots, eyes glued to her idol. Cheetah was ahead. She cut through the air, her legs slapping out a rhythm on the baked earth.

He had stopped to watch the birds, sometimes; they liked to play diving games at the park, letting gravity speed them up to biting, painful speeds, pulling up as close to the ground as they dared. Cheetah whipped past. He fancied she had wings, imagined the wind screaming through her ears. She was going to win for sure.

On the walk home, Hare was even more manic than usual. She kept running ahead and running back to him, giggling and apparently unable to stop. She’d near lost her mind when Cheetah won, and he knew by experience she wouldn’t be back to normal for days yet. Tortoise tried keeping up with her. The pavement thumped beneath his feet, dappled shade racing over his shell. He found himself giggling with her. They made it home in record time, with dusty feet and still heaving exhausted laughs.

They found themselves in the park, Hare’s mother absently watching them as they played some game with loosely defined rules and a lot of laughter. Tortoise staggered a little as Hare sat on his back, her ears turned towards the sun, fresh sunlight slowly turning golden with the evening.

“How’d you get so fast? Wish I could run as quick as that.”

“I dunno, I’ve just always been fast. Was sprinting before I could see, mama says.”

She paused, and hopped off his back. Another moment, and a long drag of the homemade lemonade her mother had brought later.

“I could try teaching you, if you like.”

The next morning, and a lot of dancing and games and not going to sleep later, Tortoise’s mother had finally arrived to drag him home. The usual routine of hugs and shouting and hiding later, and all the adults suitably frustrated, he was finally on the doorstep, ready to go.

“You’d better come to the park with me this Saturday! You’ll be running like wind in no time, I’ll teach you, I promise.”

“Yeah, I said, I’ll ask my mum. She’ll say yes, I’m sure of it.”

His mother finally gave up, physically grabbing him and pulling him to the car. He watched Hare waving and shouting something at the door. Twisting around to keep watching until they pull around the corner, he saw her finally give one last shout, before she went back inside.

Saturday arrived far too slowly. Tortoise couldn’t concentrate all day. He’d meant to get started on his schoolwork, but found himself staring vacantly at the paper, having been nominally hard at work for hours but finding himself getting up to pace around the room more than actually concentrating on the task at hand. His mother had had to threaten to keep him at home before he finally found the motivation to focus on long division.

Finally having arrived, Tortoise searched the area for his friend. A cream blur smacked into his side. A flurry of greetings later and they were running laps around the field.

They went barrelling around the faded track, Hare spending a lot of time jumping about in place so he could keep up with her, but he didn’t mind so much. He’d never run this far before. In fact, he’d never really run further than what the teachers had forced them to in PE. His heart thumped, and his feet hurt a bit, but the sheer joy of it was exhilarating. He could run, he could run pretty far. Not as far or as fast as Hare, but this was only day one.

By the time his mother insisted they go home, his legs were trembling a little and Hare was panting, but they were both grinning at each other and collapsing into giggles at nothing, so the day was counted as a wild success. He saw Hare’s mother smiling something triumphant as Hare slumped into the car without a fight. They’d be coming every week, then.

“C’mon, I know you can run faster than that. You can do it! I believe in you!”

Tortoise didn’t reply. Gasping for breath, he shook his head and slowed to a stop. Hare pouted at him, nudging his side.

“Don’t give up that easily, I know you can keep going. Your brain gives up before your legs do, remember?”

Tortoise just shook his head again.

Hare seemed to give up on dragging him upright and rolled her eyes.

“Try to keep up with me, okay? Don’t give me that look. The ice cream truck’s coming in a bit, you can do it! Muster the energy! Inner strength! Inner strength!”

Tortoise finally cracked a smile, and reluctantly peeled himself off the ground. Every step hurt just a bit, but Hare looked so proud of him. And he was better than how he started, he knew it. Nothing good came easy, his mum had always told him. He’d be back here next week, he swore it to himself.

It was only a little after that when he realised he didn’t like Saturdays anymore.

It had been raining a little that night. The day was a bit cold, for the summer. A bit foggy. The field would be muddy and slippery and hard to run on.

“Should I really go running today? It’s a bit wet, isn’t it?”

His mother raised an eyebrow.

“Well, if you don’t really want to, it’ll save me the trouble of cleaning the car.”

When they arrived, Hare smiled at him. He blinked. She’d be disappointed.

“Hey, my mum says we shouldn’t run today. Too muddy.”

Hare’s ears pricked upwards, her tail twitching in her tiny ball of fluff and fury. She insisted that he’d never improve if he didn’t keep practising, that his mother was being crazy and it wasn’t fair, she was so mean, it wasn’t even that muddy out. That day was colder than the weather, Hare in a foul mood as they struggled to play on the park apparatus.

Tortoise was young, but had the self-awareness to be ashamed.

The next time it rained, they just cancelled.

And so it went. Every week they argued for longer, Tortoise gave up earlier, Hare got more and more frustrated. He wasn’t trying hard enough, he didn’t care enough, she knew he could do it but he wouldn’t, why wouldn’t he just put in some effort? The excuses not to go got weaker and weaker.

By the end of it, the icy shadow of their arguments was seeping into the rest of their lives. Their conversations around the lunch table at school got shorter, they texted less, they found themselves complaining about each other to their other friends. Tortoise told himself he didn’t care, that friends always grow apart, and she was annoying anyway.

The new school year dawned damp and tired. He was sure the new PE teacher hated him. Why, he didn’t understand. Wasn’t a teacher’s job to, you know, help him? This guy just sighed at Tortoise, disappointed,and went to coach the sporty kids.

The races were consistently the worst.

The class giggled at him. They’d all finished by now. Stumbling, he cursed at them. The mud, churned by the rain and frozen solid in the night hurt his feet and he struggled over the ridges. The morning was so cold, clouds covering the sun, and his neck tensed at the bite of autumn air.

They gave a standing ovation as he finally made it over the finish line. Bastards. They were all idiots, they’d end up working at McDonald's, they were terrible people who hated themselves really, he didn’t care, he didn’t care, he didn’t-

“Ha, even my baby sister can run faster than him. If I were as unfit as that I’d plod myself off a cliff.”

All her friends laughed. The teacher glanced over, but seemed to come to the conclusion it didn’t really matter.

Tortoise realised he really did care.

He laid in bed that night, trembling a little, curled into himself the best he could. Maybe Hare had been right. He hadn’t tried hard enough, he was stupid and useless and a quitter. If he’d kept at it, he’d be good by now, he was sure of it.

Tortoise glared up at the popcorn ceiling, which just watched him impassively.

He blinked, furious, insisting to himself he was just angry, he wasn’t upset, he wasn’t that sensitive. He finally let his mind turn his classmate’s words over and over. They were right, really. Why did he hate them? They were just being honest. He felt a little sick.

He resolved to try harder this time.

Feet thumped against the mud-slick field. His chest hurt, he was desperate to take a break, but cold determination dragged him forward, as sure as gravity pulled a bird shot down from the sky.

> _You can stop when you finish this lap, I’ll allow five minutes, come on, don’t slow down, you can’t slow down._

He didn’t slow down. By the time he reached the end, his whole body was aflame with a tensing, burning, freezing ache. He told himself he was fine. His time- his time- it was better. By a good amount, as well. The pride felt like watery winter sunlight in the evening, lemon yellow and weak, but precious. He hurt, but it was worth it, he knew it was worth it.

> _Good. Again._

He shut his eyes tight, filled his lungs with painfully cold air. His throat felt raw. He started again.

He hit the same problem. There seemed to be a limit on how quickly he could run, no matter how hard he tried. He just wasn’t trying hard enough. He resolved to go and run, every day, without fail. It would be impossible not to improve after that.

He found himself staying at the track later and later. He’d decided that he’d beat his record at least once, every day, but it had gotten seriously difficult recently. He told himself he didn’t regret it.

> _You’re fine, keep going._

He did.

Just home on a February evening. It was late; he’d missed dinner. His mum had left something for him in the fridge. He took it upstairs with him to his room. His maths homework sat innocently on his desk. He’d left it there that morning. He knew it was due the next day, but. He was so tired. Taking one look at the first page made him gag, just a little.

> _It’s fine, the more tired you are now the more effort you put in. Just go to bed._

His maths teacher was tomorrow’s problem.

Canary stopped him one afternoon, just as he was leaving school

“Hey, we’re going out on Friday after school, just to commemorate the end of term. You in? Haven’t decided where to go yet, but-“

“I can’t. Sorry. I’ve- I have to-“

She huffs a frustrated breath.

“Don’t think I don’t know. You’re rubbish at secrets.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Don’t play stupid with me. Look at yourself, you’re a mess. You need to get it together. You can’t concentrate-”

Squirrel caught up to them, and nodded along to what Canary was saying.

“-you never talk to us anymore-“

Cold hands reached into his shell, groped around for his heart, and **squeezed**.

“-we’ve got exams in a couple years, you need to-“

“Sh-Shut up! Shut up, shut up, if you hate me just f-fuck off already, I don’t care anyway, I-“

“Excuse me? We’re trying to help you, you idiot, why won’t you just-“

Tortoise’s heart was hammering, his eyes were clouding, he had to get away, he had to leave, he had to-

“Get back here! Hey-“

The next day, he sat alone at lunch.

No matter how hard he tried not to, he found himself thinking over Canary’s words. Maybe he was working too hard, maybe he deserved a break. What if he hurt himself? What if he made himself sick? He couldn’t keep up at this rate forever, maybe he should slow down.

> _Shut up, don’t think like that. You can do it, remember?_

He ignored the stinging guilt. Maybe he should. Upon reflection- his grades were getting worse, his feet hurt all the time, he was losing his appetite. Jesus- maybe he really did have a problem.

Just one day. He would take a quick break: just one day. That was fine, right? Of course it was fine. Why wouldn’t it be?

His mother started at the doorbell. He was home hours earlier than usual. Her eyes softened when she saw her son, looking aggressively cheery.

“Please say you aren’t giving up again son. You’re doing so much better this time, right?”

“I- I just thought I’d take a break. It’s just one day, I-“

She shook her head, raising her eyebrows at him.

“That’s what you said last time. Then look where you ended up. Come on, you can’t throw it all out now.”

He looked at her, watery eyed and a little disbelieving.

“You know, I can’t run at all these days. I should have worked harder at it when I was young, like you. Go on son, don’t give up. I know you can do it.”

He says nothing, and just shakes his head.

“She’s wrong.”

His bedroom ceiling didn’t reply.

“She doesn’t understand.”

The small stain near the light was just the same as always.

“I’m not giving up. I just don’t want to burn out, you know?”

A slice of moonlight stole in through a gap in the curtains, painting a blinding silver-blue stripe down the far wall. He sighed.

Spring sunlight smashed through the window, startling him awake. He shot up, and blinking a few times, struggling to remember where he was and what was going on. The day was- Sunday. He was going to- wait. It was Saturday. Was it? He checked his phone.

> 8:30pm, Saturday

He’d meant to go out that day. In the afternoon, he had planned to go out running. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, he was such an idiot, when had he ever planned to work and not done it, he was an idiot and a failure-

He had to forcefully remind himself he was okay. He was okay. It was fine. He’d go tomorrow. It wasn’t the end of the world, he was overreacting, he was okay, and everything was fine-

The anxious buzzing didn’t cease.

Conceding defeat, he dragged himself out of bed to do some half-hearted exercises on his bedroom floor.

A gust of warm wind blew a howl through the leaves of the trees.

He glared down at his time. How dare it- How dare he? It made no sense, it wasn’t fair, he’d tried so hard and he just couldn’t push it further, why was his time worse? He’d put in the effort, he was trying hard enough, he hadn’t given up, he was fine, he was fine-

> _You aren’t fine. You’ve stopped trying. You’ll go. Every. Day. Okay?_

He trembled, just a little.

“Okay.”

Another day of PE first period. The summer warmth sang over a yellowed, parched field. The school races were like nothing, now. He still wasn’t good. Not even above average. But he wasn’t dead last anymore. His classmates had finally shut up.

It was a fridge-cold victory, to not be last, but he burned with pride. That victory- sprinting down the end of the race, dust painted gold in the morning light, his head thumping in pain and feet cut from rocks on the track and his heart pumping away, but he felt the sun was shining straight through his shell and onto his very soul and for just a moment it was euphoria.

Just for a moment he was so, blindingly happy, he’d never felt so perfect in his life, time slowed, he escaped the confines of his head, he noticed the curling fractals of the trees and his rich, long shadow, and the grasses still clinging to life, defiantly green against the burning light, he’d never felt like this in his life, he’d wait a hundred years just to feel like this again for one more second, it was-

“Hey, Tortoise. Well done. You’re way better than the beginning of the year. Good work.”

Tortoise would never feel quite like that again.

It had been a very long day. He could finally collapse back into bed. His legs trembled, he had a spelling test the next day and he hadn’t even started revising for it, but that was a far-away concern at that point, at least he could sleep-

> _You will get out of bed, once your parents have gone to sleep. Get out of bed, and go for a run._

He had to restrain himself from shouting.

The streetlights seemed to curl in towards the street, at the periphery of his vision. Like a giant ribcage. He knew it was cold, at this time of night. He didn’t really feel it. He knew his bones and his skin and his shell hurt. But did fish feel water? The rough pavement tore at his feet.

He ended up bombing that spelling test.

He came to a cold realisation, a few days into the summer holidays. He couldn’t do it anymore.

He feigned illness, he claimed injury, he just plainly said he was too tired. His mother’s disappointed gaze failed to spark any emotion. He simply couldn’t do it anymore. She chided him, and then she shouted at him, and then they stopped talking all together.

The new school year dawned again, time marching onward, dragging along or steamrolling every living thing as it went, as time always does. PE was in the afternoon, now. The new teacher didn’t seem to care about any of her students. This year he just walked behind the rest, damn the other students to hell if they cared.

As it turned out, they did.

“Fuck PE to hell, am I right? It’s bullshit, I can’t believe they force us to waste our time like this, it’s stupid.”

Lizard barks a laugh, derisive and sneering. He cuts a line across a corner of the lap. A small band of other kids had formed around Tortoise, vaguely wandering around the track, miles behind the bulk of the class. He wasn’t sure if they were friends, but at this point they were really the only people he talked to.

“Hey! Put in some effort, you lot at the back! Or I’ll have you go around again, don’t think I won’t.”

“Oh, shut up Ms P, we don’t care~”

“Detention! All of you, get over here, I’m taking your names.”

He wondered if that was sad.

The WIFI gave out for a few days, that autumn. Tortoise found himself absently browsing his camera roll. It was mostly pictures of morning sunlight and flowers he found at the park. He knew the pictures were of beautiful things. But it was like he’d smelled something unpleasant, like limp lettuce and linoleum and cut grass, like a punch to the belly. He skimmed past those, he had just wanted to see what silly things he’d snapped a photo of, not- well-

It was a selfie of him and Hare. From a year and a half ago. His phone didn’t support a selfie mode, it was hard enough the designers had to work around his lack of limbs. But Hare loved taking pictures, he remembered after every school trip he’d always receive a waterfall of texts, and he’d always complained about it but had dutifully saved every last one.

This photo was taken just outside school, near the fountain. He remembered taking it, still. They’d just finished with exams, and it would just be a few weeks of not learning anything before the summer would hit again. She’d been so excited, practically buzzing all the time. She’d sent that photo to him captioned “we SURVIVED” or “YAAAAAAAY” or “:D!!!!!”or, well, something of that sort, he couldn't really remember.

His brain knit together a narrative, in that moment. Life had been perfect, and sunny, and beautiful, and the sky had been bluer than the cloudless blue-tinted white-grey the window let in. It hurt, it hurt as sure as hunger or a broken leg hurt. The nostalgia hurt, the loneliness hurt, he missed her and it hurt him.

Eventually, one night over the Christmas holidays, he saw Hare was online. Not giving himself enough time to stress, he went ahead and sent her a text.

**TO HARE:** Hey

**TO HARE:** Im sorry we argued

**TO HARE:** Howve you been

There was a moment when he considered deleting every message before she saw them, of course she hated him, he’d been a bit awful, now that he thought about it.

**FROM HARE:** im ok

**FROM HARE:** come round to my place for christmas? i think my mum misses u lol

**FROM HARE:** ive been so worried about u

**FROM HARE:** u okay? u always looked so sad at school ( ๑╥⌒╥)(◕⌓◕ ✿)

Tortoise hated himself a little bit for being so excited.

* * *

It was the summer, again. Hare’s family hadn’t managed to get front row seats that year, but it didn’t matter – her growth spurt had hit, and she didn’t have so much trouble seeing over people’s heads anymore. There was Cheetah. Hare gasped and laughed and pointed, and even though she saw her every year she always acted like it was the first and last time.

They started running.

**Author's Note:**

> if anyone actually finds this imma have an aneurysm and die. why did you read this. why did i write this.


End file.
